“He certainly knows how to herd up cattle,” Norman added.
“Maybe he’s a bird dog, Bennie,” said Spider.
“I know what he is,” Dumplin’ grinned. “He’s a Chickadee hound!”
“Aw, you make me sick,” Bennie retorted. “Just ’cause he’s a pup, and hasn’t been trained yet. Come here, Jeff. Bite ’em!”
Jeff came back, as proudly as if he had herded the cattle instead of scaring one small bird, and once more he had to be put out of the tent, after everybody had got nicely to sleep.
The next morning the thermometer, which the doctor carried in a case with his aneroid barometer, registered only 38° at five o’clock. Everybody was glad to pile out and hustle around striking camp, to get warmed up for breakfast.
“Now, gentlemen, we’ve got our work cut out for us,” said Norman, when they were ready to start. “Everything has been a picnic so far, but now we are going to run into the snow. I don’t know whether we can make Hunt’s Cove or not. It will depend on how good sports you are.”
“If the last two days have been a picnic, I don’t know whether I want to see your idea of working,” said Bennie.
“Afraid?”
“Afraid, your grandmother. But I sure am sorry for poor old Dobbin,” Bennie retorted.